


First Flicker

by SaltwaterJanuary



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction to the Things That Hurt You, Childhood Trauma, Destructive Behavior, Explosions, Father-Son Relationship, Fire, Gen, Obsession, Pyromania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltwaterJanuary/pseuds/SaltwaterJanuary
Summary: In case you, too, wonder about Bean's origins and slightly think that he may be insane. Oneshot.
Kudos: 2





	First Flicker

_First Flicker_

"Hey there, Beany-bean!"

The air and mood was light, but her touch was lighter as she put the duckling into her arms.

As he stared up at her she couldn't help but feel smitten.

"Hey there, hey there. How is my little Bean?" She always spoke to him in this manner, and he was not old enough to be "used to it". But he certainly didn't mind.

He gave back nothing but a laughing reply.

"You need to start calling him by his actual name, honey. He's going to think his name is Beany-bean," came a voice from the next room.

The lady duck rolled her eyes playfully. "I gave birth to him, I can call him what I want."

Her husband laughed lightly. "Well, that's true. But I worked just as hard trying to help you."

"I doubt that." She swaddled the baby up and took him into the next room, where his father sat at a desk working.

He rose to kiss his son's forehead, even though he was still busy. "You two be careful out there."

"We will," and she kissed her husband goodbye. "We'll be back before three."

He nodded and got back to his work.

* * *

The smell of smoke and sulfur rose to his beak, and he gagged almost to the point of vomiting.

He couldn't make sense of the sounds, he couldn't make sense of the feelings, and he couldn't make sense of events. Yet there was something about the smoke- the flames, the glow, the heat- that made sense to him then.

He felt alive, as long as he could feel the destruction there. If he gagged of the smoke, it was proof that he was still breathing.

* * *

"Bean. Beany-bean? Look at me."

He looked up at his father's face, four years later.

"You aren't paying attention. Please, Bean, just for a minute."

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Why are you staring at that painting there? We have to get going, don't you want to see the rest?"

"No."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I don't want to leave it."

"Leave what? Show me."

He lifted his son up and held him close to the painting on the wall. "Don't touch it, just point."

With one decisive finger, Bean pointed to the swirls of smoke rising from behind the barricade of trees in the picture.

His father couldn't breathe for several minutes.

* * *

A bright light shined into his eye for a moment as the doctor checked it again.

"Well, that's all very good. Was there something disturbing you, Mr. Duck?"

He nodded solemnly. "I'm worried about his head."

Trying his best not to sob, his father told the whole story to the doctor.

"That is odd. He should have a phobia of fire in that case. Have you asked him about it?"

The bright lights shining from the thin blinds distracted Bean so much that he could only hear murmurs as the adults talked.

Somewhere out there, he knew he was missing something. Someone, maybe. Something about bright lights reminded him.

Suddenly, the doctor was looking him in the face. "Bean, may I ask you some questions?"

Bean nodded eagerly. "I like questions."

"Your dad tells me you like fire, is that right?"

He nodded excitedly.

"What is it about fire that you like?"

"I like the heat, and the bright, and…" he stood up and shouted," the boom!"

"The boom?" The doctor looked at him seriously.

Bean nodded.

"Do you know anything about the boom?" the doctor asked, turning to face his dad.

But he didn't know.

"It must've had something to do with the _event_ …but then he should be terrified."

"Why?" Bean asked.

Neither of the adults answered him.

In the end his dad was told to "keep an eye on it".

* * *

A sharp pain went through his hand as he touched the surface. He couldn't figure it out, but he didn't want to leave it.

A scream escaped his beak as he stumbled backwards. He called for his dad, panicked at that point, and as he looked down at his hand he found it was seared.

His dad appeared a few minutes later. "What? What is it?"

He was horrified when he saw his son sitting down on the kitchen floor, looking at his burnt hand, and smiling with tears in his eyes.

* * *

"So, when did you first notice this, Bean?"

"I don't know, I just remember it always being there."

His father grew more frustrated about it by the minute. How in the world could it be that Bean adored the thing that took his mother's life and nearly his own? The only explanation his father could think about was that something had happened to his head, and this thought only worried him more.

* * *

He lied awake many nights, but on that particular one he felt the tears finally release from their depths.

He wept rather bitterly that night in fact, but he would never tell anyone else that.

* * *

Bean awoke that morning, oblivious and content as he usually was, and his father told him to have a seat on the couch.

Bean showed no signs of understanding that connotation, but he obeyed anyway.

His father couldn't bear to take the seat in front of him, but he did so anyway.

It was for his son.

No. It was for _their_ son.

He cleared his throat and started speaking, but as the words met the air Bean stopped listening.

Whatever his father was saying made no sense to him. Something about some kind of counseling, some kind of leaving, some kind of 'but I'll always be here, too.'

Bean stood up from the couch. "I think I'm going to go look for something."

"But what? I wasn't done speaking yet!" His father grabbed his arm to stop him, but Bean kept walking.

"The boom. I have to find it. It's waiting."

"No."

His father yanked him aside and looked him in both of the eyes. "No. The boom is what hurt you."

His expression didn't change, but he asked," When?"

"It killed your mother. It injured you. You were only a baby, maybe you don't remember it, but whatever this 'boom' is has to do with the incident."

Neither of them breathed. Bean stared for a long, unsettling moment, until finally he replied. "Oh."

* * *

He went to this "counseling" the next week, his father reassuring him the whole way. Something about the way he spoke made it seem like a big deal, but Bean didn't really feel like he had a problem to begin with really.

He barely listening to the words, and no matter what he heard another thing calling. He had to find that "boom", no matter if he knew what it was or not- or how it had hurt him.

He left early that day, before his father had come to pick him up, and he took a self-tour of the streets for the rest of the time.

He didn't ever meet up with his dad, and searching for that "boom" became his only priority, as the rest faded out of his sight. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was just me exploring my idea of Bean's history.   
> Of course, I'm not implying that you should quit counseling or that being insane means that you are an inherently dangerous person. I just meant to portray this unstable nature in Bean's character.


End file.
